


this is where

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester in Love, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, dean being a romantic to the best of his considerable abilities, like... A WHOLE LOT OF LOVE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: Sam worries, sometimes, that he's not as young as he used to be.Dean has never cared.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 48
Kudos: 346





	this is where

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuckntoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckntoast/gifts).



> this is a belated birthday gift for the lovely, wonderful, amazing, nat aka @[honeycube02](https://honeycube02.tumblr.com) on tumblr. babe i am so, SO blessed to have you in my life, you make me smile every time with your texts (and cry with your headcanons) and you honestly make me feel so glad to know you. i love you <3
> 
> -
> 
> title is from the poem _a time capsule_ by lang leav. it's a gorgeous work of poetry, and i'm linking it [here](https://justsomebeautifulwords.wordpress.com/2014/02/27/a-time-capsule-by-lang-leav/) so you can all enjoy it too!

It’s just light-hearted teasing. Sam knows that. No one really means anything by it - and besides, it’s not as if they’re doing it on purpose, to get to him. Having coworkers means having people other than Dean teasing him, bantering with him - and occasionally, accidentally hitting sore spots. It’s fine. He’s fine. It doesn’t bother him _that_ much.

He has to admit, though - it’s not as if they’re entirely _wrong_.

It’s been a while since they’ve settled. Seven, almost eight years, thinks Sam. One last Hail Mary to save the world, and then they’d had enough. Sam remembers Dean surprising him - taking him out on what had seemed to be just another road-trip, except it had ended in a tiny town in Wyoming. A pretty little yellow house, with a dirt driveway and a backyard, and the world’s coziest bedroom.

One last home.

They haven’t been on a single hunt since.

It’s kind of obvious, Sam thinks wryly as he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. No new scars. He’s not as muscular as he used to be. Neither is Dean, but where his brother’s getting some well-earned softness to his belly, Sam’s just getting skinnier. They’ve both got their fair share of gray hair - Sam’s is just more obvious because it stands out more in his longer, darker hair. And well - crow’s feet, laugh lines, things that Sam never thought either of them would ever live long enough to get.

It’s a good thing, he reminds himself. It’s a reminder. They’ve survived this far. Hell, he’s almost forty-six next month. He’d never even imagined, not in his wildest dreams, that he’d even see this side of forty.

So a little ribbing should not be getting to him this much. Joe at work has no concept of boundaries, or of when’s a good time to be funny. Just because he jokes about Dean trading his elderly husband in for a newer model doesn’t mean it’ll actually _happen_ , and not just because Dean’s older than Sam.

Dean loves Sam. If he loved him through his awkward puberty phase, buck teeth and gangly limbs and all, then he can sure as hell deal with Sam’s ageing.

The bathroom door bangs open, startling Sam into dropping his toothbrush. “Dude!” he hisses at Dean, who’s just barged in like he owns the place.

Well, he kind of does.

Not the point.

“‘Sup,” greets Dean, grinning widely as he reaches into Sam’s personal space to grab his toothbrush.

“I could’ve been peeing,” Sam says, glaring at Dean in the mirror.

“But you weren't,” Dean counters, snatching the toothpaste tube from Sam’s hand, “and besides, nothin’ I ain’t seen before, man.”

“Dude, put the cap back on,” Sam says when Dean puts the open tube back on the counter.

“You do it if it bothers you so much,” Dean says, stuffing his toothbrush into his mouth and giving Sam a foamy smirk.

Instead of replying, Sam rolls his eyes and puts the cap back on, before leaning down to wash his face. He moves out of the way when Dean spits, because the other option is getting Dean’s gross toothpaste spit in his hair. It’s happened a few too many times for Sam’s comfort, because Dean is an asshole who enjoys annoying Sam.

And if Sam sometimes puts chili powder in Dean’s coffee to get back at him, well, that’s entirely Dean’s fault.

“Why were you taking this long in there anyway?” Dean asks, once he’s done brushing his teeth. “You’re usually done in five minutes tops.”

“Was busy,” Sam answers vaguely.

“Busy?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “At the sink? So not the fun kind of busy.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Not everything is about sex or jerking off, you know,” he tells Dean as he shoulders past him and exits the bathroom.

“Unfortunately,” Dean says, following Sam out. “Man, you’re okay, right?” he asks a moment later, and Sam turns to see Dean looking at him with concern.

“Yeah, Dean, ‘course,” Sam says, and does his best to smile. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Dean says, evidently letting it drop, thankfully.

Sam’s relief is short-lived; later on that night, Dean does the same thing again - barges into the bathroom - and ends up catching Sam red-handed, staring into the mirror over the sink.

“Dude,” he says. 

“What?” Sam asks irritably, looking away. This is so awkward. So damned awkward.

“I know you’re pretty, but I didn’t know you admired yourself this much in the mirror,” Dean jokes.

Sam doesn’t laugh. “I wasn’t - never mind, Dean,” he sighs, stepping away from the sink so he can go back out. He’d brush it off, normally, but Joe’s been cracking more jokes in the work group text and even though it really shouldn’t, it’s been getting to Sam.

Dean follows Sam back to the bedroom. “Hey, man, you know I was just kidding,” he says, voice softer now that he’s picked up on Sam being upset. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know,” Sam says, with a small shrug. “Sorry. Can we just let it go?”

“Sure, just…” Dean hesitates. “I meant it when I said you’re pretty,” he says a moment later, rushing the words out. “The rest of it was a joke, but that wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Sam goes still, not sure how to respond to that. “Um. Thanks, Dean-”

“I mean, you always have been,” Dean goes on. It seems now that he’s begun talking, he can’t really stop. “Right from the beginning, Sammy. For as long as I can remember.”

Sam flushes; Dean’s ears are red, too. “Dude, where is this coming from?” he mutters, ducking his head.

“I don’t know,” Dean mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “Just felt like I hadta say it, man.”

It’s almost like he’s read Sam’s mind. They’ve been on the same page for so damn long now that it’s not really possible to keep secrets from each other. Sam always knows what’s on Dean’s mind - and, as it is, Dean always knows what’s on Sam’s.

“Thank you,” Sam says in the end, looking up so he can give Dean a soft smile. “I… kinda needed to hear that.”

Dean huffs, sounding annoyed. “Joe runnin’ his mouth again?” he asks, coming closer to Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam says with a half-smile. “Nothing too bad, but - I don’t know, it just got to me today for some reason.”

“Well, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about,” Dean says decisively, and leans in to press his lips to Sam’s. Sam responds at once, tangling his fingers in the front of Dean’s shirt and kissing him back, letting Dean tilt his head back to deepen the kiss. “Joe,” Dean says when they come up for air, “is blind as hell, Sammy, if he don’t see what I see when I look at you.”

“And what’s that?” Sam asks, voice low and a little hoarse.

Dean grins at Sam, pupils wide and gaze heavy. “I see the prettiest damn person I’ve ever seen,” he tells Sam, kissing him again. “Best damn thing in my life,” he adds, hands coming up to grip at the hem of Sam’s shirt and pull it off him. “Make me feel so damn lucky just to wake up next to you,” he whispers, kissing Sam again, hands travelling down Sam’s sides and to the button of his jeans, trailing goosebumps in his wake.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, and then stops. He has no idea how to respond to any of this, to the way it makes him feel, even after all these years.

“I know I must’ve done something _real_ good to be able to deserve you,” Dean murmurs, kissing the top of Sam’s shoulder as he undoes his jeans and lets them fall. He puts his hands on Sam’s waist, wide callused hands covering slender hips, and he nips at Sam’s collarbone, grinning against Sam’s skin when he lets out a small groan of arousal.

“You like that, huh,” he says, lips pressed to the side of Sam’s neck.

“You know I do,” Sam retorts, eyes falling closed.

There’s a short pause as Dean undresses himself as quickly as he can, and then he’s got his hands on Sam again, gently pushing him back towards the bed. Sam lets himself be manhandled, lets Dean push him down into the mattress and crawl on top of him, kissing up his skin as he does so, waist to throat.

“ _Everything_ ‘bout you is gorgeous, you know that, right?” Dean asks, sucking a hickey into Sam’s skin just under his collarbone. “Every single bit of you, Sammy.”

“‘Course you’d say that, you’re stuck with me,” Sam argues half-heartedly, one hand wrapped around Dean’s shoulders and the other groping blindly for the lube he remembers having kept in his bedside drawer.

“Stuck with you?” Dean repeats incredulously, pausing to look up at Sam with his eyebrows raised. “ _Stuck_ with you? Come on, man.” He takes the lube from Sam’s hand and moves lower, nudging Sam’s knees apart until he has space to sit between them. “Whoever thinks I’m stuck with you is a dumbass,” he declares, popping the bottle of lube open and coating his fingers with it. Sam shivers as he feels it against his skin, cold and wet, and Dean kisses the inside of his thigh before continuing.

“We chose each other, Sammy,” he reminds him, pressing his index finger into him. “Over and over, we chose each other. We ain’t stuck with each other, man, we signed up for this. For the rest of our lives. However long that is.”

“It’s all I want,” Sam admits, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the pillows as he feels Dean open him up, slow and patient as always. “All I ever wanted. Just you and me.”

“Against the world,” Dean completes, and Sam can hear the smile in his voice. “Always, Sammy. You know that.”

“Yeah,” sighs Sam as Dean adds a second finger. He lets himself go, focusing on nothing but Dean working him open, on the stretch and pleasure of it, Dean’s experienced, familiar fingers touching him where no one else ever has-

“You good?” Dean murmurs, kissing the inside of Sam’s knee. His other hand is on Sam’s hip, stroking small circles into it in time with his fingers inside Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam says again, feeling breathless already. “Yeah, just-”

“Got it,” Dean says, and withdraws his fingers. Sam only has a moment to feel the loss before Dean’s pushing in, slow and careful even after decades, always so gentle with him.

“Doesn’t matter how old we get,” Dean whispers as he bottoms out, and Sam opens his eyes to see Dean looking down at him with a gaze so intense it’s almost all black and no green. “You’re always gonna be the most beautiful thing in the world to me, Sammy.”

“Even when I’m wrinkly as hell?” It’s only half a joke.

“Even then,” Dean promises, leaning down to kiss Sam on the mouth. “I said always, Sammy. Means _always_. ‘S long as you’ll have me,” he adds.

“That’s always too,” Sam says, words punctuated with tiny moans as Dean begins moving, fucking into Sam, a well-worn rhythm that still makes them both see stars. “You’re it for me, Dean. Don’t want - _oh_ , do that again - I don’t want anyone else.”

Dean smiles, and then kisses the corner of Sam’s mouth, and then his jaw. “I know,” he murmurs, looking like he’s been handed a gift even though it’s been _decades_ , and Sam’s made a habit of telling him he loves him.

“Glad we got that straightened out, then,” Sam says with a fond little laugh, wrapping both arms and legs around Dean and erasing whatever little space there was between their bodies. “Gonna fuck me now?”

“Such a bossy little bitch,” Dean says with a smirk, and then moves into Sam in a way that has him gasping out loud, every nerve in his body lighting up.

“Jerk,” is all he manages to say, before Dean begins fucking him well and good, just as he’d asked, until the bedframe’s creaking, headboard hitting the wall with each thrust, and Sam has forgotten every single word in every language, everything but, “Dean, Dean, _Dean_ -”

He’s almost sobbing Dean’s name by the time he comes, untouched, and then a few seconds later Dean muffles a groan, biting down on Sam’s lower lip as he comes, too, warm and sticky. He collapses next to Sam when he’s done, both of them sweaty and sated, and tugs at Sam’s arm until Sam’s curling into his side, face pressed into Dean’s neck.

“I’ll clean you up later,” he murmurs into Sam’s hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You good?”

“I’m great,” Sam answers honestly, raising his head a little and smiling tiredly at Dean. 

“‘Course you are, I’m amazing in bed,” Dean says with self-satisfaction, drawing small circles into Sam’s skin with his fingers. “If you can still stay awake, I must’ve done something wrong.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam mutters, though he’s still grinning as he lays his head back down. “Better enjoy the time we’ve got left before we start popping Viagra, huh.”

“That’ll never happen,” Dean says confidently. “My dick is too powerful to be stopped, _ever_.”

“Biology doesn’t work according to your convenience,” snorts Sam.

“Pfft, we’ll see.” Then, a moment later, “I don’t care either way, though. I’m gonna keep banging you till we die or my dick falls off, whatever comes first.”

Sam can’t help but laugh at that. “Always the romantic,” he teases, grinning up at Dean.

“Ah, you know me,” Dean says fondly, kissing Sam’s temple again. 

“Should probably be thankful you don’t write me poetry.”

“Please, I’d be great and you know it.”

“Sure, Dean. If you say so.”

It’s not the life Sam imagined for himself, when he’d been younger. It’s very different - yellow house with the cornflower blue door, sunflowers in the backyard, weekend barbecues with the friends he and Dean managed to make in this tiny town. Growing old together, staying in instead of going out on most nights. Falling asleep with his head in Dean’s lap in front of a fireplace in the winters, Dean’s fingers in his hair and Dean’s voice surrounding him, whiskey and classic rock. Lazy, unhurried sex, trading kisses back and forth like affirmations, bickering over what movie to watch like always. Salt on the doors and windows and Devil’s Trap under the carpets - but they’re safe, too. Less nightmares, more hours of sleep, guns in the bedside drawers instead of tucked away under pillows. Warmth, and safety, and love.

It’s so, so much better than Sam could ever have hoped for.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought of it! and if you can, PLEASE go check out [nat's art on tumblr](https://honeycube02.tumblr.com/tagged/my-artwork), she's so insanely talented, it is MINDBLOWING. you won't regret it, promise! drop her some birthday love too!!
> 
> love,  
> remy x


End file.
